


A Hundred Glass Pieces

by Ekhap



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Past Abuse, Psychological Drama, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, Unreliable Narrator, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27324793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ekhap/pseuds/Ekhap
Summary: When his boyfriend of many years dies tragically in the hospital from a seemingly random attack, it sends him into a downward spiral where time means nothing and the grief is the only emotion he's capable of feeling. But by God, he's going to protect his lover's honor.
Kudos: 2





	A Hundred Glass Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> I'm not a new author to the archive, but my previous works were decidedly not my style. This piece is an exploration in two aspects: My writing style, as I've noticed that everything I write tends to drift towards sadness and grief and bad feels, and the idea of an unnamed, unreliable protagonist. If it bothers you too much, take a gander at the notes at the end for the name I used when Ian was talking to the clerk.
> 
> I loved writing this, even if I did almost cry during it, but I know that it isn't everyone's cup of tea. That being said, if the tags turned you off, but a morbid curiosity keeps you here, DONT READ IF YOU GET TRIGGERED BY SUICIDAL IDEATION/REFERENCES TO ABUSE. I love them as literary tools, not as real-world effects.
> 
> There's also no beta to this, and I'm a big fan of posting the first draft. There may be errors, and i sowwy. I tried my best.
> 
> All that being said, I hope you enjoy this!

In his 22 years of living, he had never been prone to auditory illusions. But that day, in the evening of the 17th of October, as the news fell upon his ears, there was no room for error: A glass sculpture, as beautiful as it was delicate, broke in the ground behind him.

He even looked behind himself, panicking that someone else may have received the same fate as James. Salvation through human error.

Nothing had ever stung more in his life.

* * *

Three days prior, the sting was less so. No glass had broken, and there was still hope on the horizon. James, hospitalized for multiple gunshot wounds, was looking up.

The doctors, at least three nameless nurses told him, have removed the bullets. He’s currently undergoing a blood transfusion that will save his life. He is currently staying overnight to save his life. His life will be saved, just around this corner. No, wait, this one. _Shit_ , this corner.

He only saw James once before _the end_.

Two days prior, another nurse let him know that he was able to take visitors from outside of his family. Out of the ICU, and undergoing a speedy recovery, she said. So, he walked in, and saw an angel on the brink of death.

Striking black hair wasn’t beautiful anymore, but greasy and matted. The eyes spoke of months of lost sleep, though _four_ days prior those same bags weren’t there. Even in sleep, his mouth was downturned, as if he disapproved of the situation that he’d been dealt. His hands were white as paper, and he could see James’ bones. Like glass.

He sat down next to the skeleton still breathing lightly as the clock ticked 8 AM. 9 AM. 10 PM.

James still hadn’t woken up.

He hadn’t left, though. Leaving would mean abandoning, and if he had to leave that would mean that if James died –

If James left, he wouldn’t have anyone to go with him.

11 PM. A nurse peeks in, sees the tired hands holding bones, paper, and glass, and decides to leave the mourner alone.

One day prior, and he knew what was going to happen. The nurses all assured him that he’d be safe, he was cleared for release as soon as he woke up. It would almost feel like catharsis _if_ he – parted. Succumbed. Left him all alone.

James was walking home. From college to their shared apartment, their home, their abode of sanctuary. On the dinner table was a simple dinner, on the TV screen a corny show where the characters talked too fast, and on the street was a rat, intent on taking someone down that night.

But the bones held together by a thin piece of paper could care less about _what_ happened that night or _what_ that night meant to him because he was off in a different world. A painless one, he hoped.

Never before had time ticked by slower, yet it was seconds before he was being tugged out of the room by a nurse, her murmuring that it was early, visiting hours ended 5 hours ago, _how_ did he stay unnoticed.

He sat in his car. The glass sculpture was wheeled in.

* * *

He would like to say that there are good days and bad days. Nothing had ever hurt more, but sometimes he went into a field, and while people would ask what he did there, he couldn’t say that he contemplated suicide, or cutting, or throwing it all away to see if he could meet James again. How much he would have taken his spot. How resilient James would have been. He said his mind was empty. Void of all thought, and he relaxed. He had a good day.

Yet there are days when he sees glass. He sees paper, and he flashes back to how tired James looked. He visits a restaurant because a close friend forces him to and sees a bone in the dinner that a woman is eating, three tables away from them. He waits until he can excuse himself to the restroom to throw up.

Nothing had ever stung more.

Every day brought a new pain. Every time he thought that he had experienced enough, that there was _nothing_ more that the world could throw at him, that hearing the clinical words, “James Ward passed due to infection in his colon,” was the worst experience he could have been given.

He catches himself drifting through time. Whether only two days have passed or four months, it feels the same to him. Every interval of time brings a new demon, and they already seem innumerable. If their leering faces could tell time, he’s sure he’d be seeing the heat death of the universe by now.

* * *

There’s another man flirting with him.

James has long since been buried. James’ mother cried and tore into him at the funeral, telling him he hadn’t _protected_ her baby, her love, and he sat there. Nothing had ever made more since. Of _course_ it was his fault. When it was over, he cried in the bathroom of the church and threw up. The priest looked at him funny as he was leaving.

But there’s a dashing man in front of him, threatening to take all his pain away. He can’t tell if his face is distinct from the demons or that he’s simply gotten used to seeing them as normal humans.

Ian, he dropped his name has. He doesn’t give his. In fact, he doesn’t know where he is, feeling the slight discomfort a situation gives when theres nothing familiar about it, but.

This is his home.

Why are there people in his home?

He sees Caroline, who brought him to the restaurant, Jessica, who has largely been silent in his mourning, but must know what he’s going through, and Ian. Ian, whose putting on a suave façade as though his pants are open and he’s ready to mingle.

He’s not. He feels like dying.

Ian’s face softens as his responses are lacking. “We,” he begin, already turning him off, “ We wanted to talk to you. We’re worried. We know you loved James.”

“I would have rather died than ever see him in pain.” He quickly steps in.

Ian looks at a loss for words, but Jessica has his back. “James didn’t love you the same way, though.”

This time, he can see the glass breaking.

“What do you mean?” There’s a crack at the edge of his vision, but when he tries to look at it, it flits away.

“He…” Caroline begins.

The three looked at each other. There’s another crack, this time on the left side of his vision.

“You forgot that he took a shard of glass to you one night.”

“He never did that.”

“Or the time he threw a plate at you.”

“I caught it.”

“Or the time that he screamed at you in public.”

“I could’ve gotten myself killed.”

“He said that he would have killed you if it weren’t a crime. In front of Ian.”

A pause. Spiderwebbing. A sob. “He _loved_ me”

The cracks reveal themselves to be parts of a larger whole, and the spiderwebbing across his vision makes it impossible to see anything beyond his hands, covering his eyes. The three demons sitting across from him were leering, jeering at his pain, cackling that they finally _, finally_ broke him.

As ugly sobs fill the room, he can feel their gazes on him. No rest for the wicked, it seems.

* * *

Caroline had tried to break them up before. She had seen the effect James had on him, the scars on his fingers that he explained as cuts from cooking. The bruises he threw away as falling down the flight of stairs to their apartment. The jagged scar running up his right arm.

He had never been prone to cutting, but James was prone to violence.

She watched as the man in front of her fractured into a hundred tiny pieces, unable to be put back together. There will _always_ be a piece missing.

Caroline had read James’ texts. Initially what she thought to be cheating, she later realized was involvement on the _wrong_ side of the law. She knew he died because he owed over thirty thousand dollars to the local gangs, split up five ways. But he didn’t know this. He thought that he hadn’t protected him.

He thought he killed him.

Thus, she told Ian and Jessica. Ian, who loved him more than a friend should, and Jessica, who was steely-faced even in times of crisis. None of them were prepared for the scene in front of them.

He had described it, on his worse days, as like he was getting surgery, but the surgeon was using a dull knife instead of a scalpel. Or a piece of glass. Or just the tip of the needle. On his better, he said he was good as new. There hasn’t been a good day in three weeks.

James died two months prior.

Ian stands up, clearly intent on trying to pick up the pieces, but the man in front of him stands up as well. Turns around, and slams the front door.

* * *

Ian thought he was beautiful.

Ian was a friend of his for years, knew him _before_ and _during_ , and now _after_. In the _before_ , he was flirting, complimenting his personality and looks. _During_ , he stopped after a night out with James, Ian, and him where he got drunk enough to think streaking through the park was a great idea, and he saw James screaming at him. Even drunk, it stuck with him to the morning. _After_ , Ian tried to return to the _before_. He couldn’t.

Ian moved to intercept him, but he was a man on a mission. He raced down the stairs, followed by Ian, Jessica, and Caroline in the back. He goes to the street. He looks back and forth, waiting for a message.

He sees a semi hurdling towards him.

He knows what he needs to do.

* * *

Jessica caught him before he could step in front of the SUV. The mother waves in thanks, her children sleeping in the back.

He tries valiantly to break her hold, but Jessica drags him to the ground. He’s surrounded by demons. Ian laughs in his face, Jessica has a blood-curdling smirk, Caroline is pulling out a knife –

They’re going to finish the job.

He passes out in relief.

* * *

“He had an abusive boyfriend,” Ian begins telling the clerk. Sunlight drifts through the open windows. He’s passed out in one of the chairs, Jessica by his side, Ian and Caroline at the counter. “His name was James, you probably saw the story in the news.”

“Mmhm.” The clerk seems distracted.

“He blames himself. He thinks that he pushed James away, and James’ family is pushing this. Caroline was at the funeral, his father screamed at him because he didn’t mention the fact that he was valedictorian in High School. I think he’s tried to kill himself multiple times before last night, but we were holding an intervention and he tried to run in front of an SUV. He needs help.”

“We have 15 beds, but 12 of them are for physical addicts. His ex is dead, correct?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then get him in therapy and see where that goes.”

“Did you not hear? He fucking tried to walk in front of a goddamn car yesterday because we told him that his boyfriend _said he would kill him if it weren’t a crime_. He needs in-patient care. Now.”

“Alright.” The clerk sighs, and turns towards the computer, and begins typing. “We recommend a stay of fourteen weeks for cases such as these. Do you have his permission to waive his rights to leave without you present?”

* * *

It was was the hardest thing Ian had to do. Ian watched as the boy he's known for years, who he fell in love with for so much more than his malleability, his readiness to adapt that James exploited. Ian watched as he woke up, slowly. He was in a wheelchair, pushed away by a nurse. He looked around, confused. He looked at his arms, shocked that they were still there. He looked to his left. Saw Ian, Caroline, and Jessica standing there. He sobbed quietly as the doors closed behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> When I was writing this, I was very careful to never name the main character. The only time I did was when I felt as though I had gotten a grasp of the style, and avoided every instance of needing to use his name. That being said, I named him Owen, when Ian was talking to the clerk. That was much more of a stand-in than anything else, but I thought some of you might find that interesting.


End file.
